Morino Ibiki: Space Mistake
by The Way of the World
Summary: <html><head></head>Waking up to find himself a prisoner of an honest-to-goodness space ship was not on Morino Ibiki's plans for the day. Nor was ending up entangled in an alien war. Now Ibiki must fight alongside people he never would have imagined could exist, to save not only his own planet, but hundreds of other worlds. With nearly the entire Galaxy at stake, time is running out!</html>
1. Chapter 1

_**Holding Cell**_

Morino Ibiki did not know how where he was, nor, more importantly, how he had gotten there. The obvious answer would be that he had been captured during a mission, or a surprise raid upon his last where-abouts. However, Ibiki was one-hundred-percent positive he had been safe (more or less) in the Interrogation room, lounging about with Yamanaka Inoichi while they shirked their dreaded paper-work from the last interrogation. It had been relatively easy, and Ibiki was sure it was not the cause of his current predicament. No, something more sinister was at work. Something the Lady Hokage likely would have her hands full dealing with.

Questions ran through his aching head like bolts of disorganized lightening.

_Was the village under attack?_

_How many foes did he have to contend with?_

_Strong, or weak? _(Silly question, for of course they were strong if they had managed to capture him...)

_More importantly...where was he?_

His current 'residence' was a darkly lit cell, made of unwelcoming gray cobblestone. It was small, the width just enough for him to have lain down and stretched out. If he were free to do so, of course. He was not. He knew he was tied, but the horrid pain in his shoulders and wrists demanded he not test the strength of the bindings. He knew his jaw was badly broken, as well as his left shoulder. Blood seeped into his right eye, from a gash above his brow. It was still new, which suggested his captors had been beating him recently, while he lay unconscious.

Anger flared through him. Who were these bastards? Despite the fact it seemed hypocritical, Ibiki was enraged that they had beaten him. Torture for information was one thing; it was often nessesary. Torture for pleasure, while the victim lay knocked out, was disgusting. It was pointless and barbaric. Period.

Ibiki's eyes grew suddenly heavy, and his vision darkened momentarily. As much as he despised the fact, he needed sleep. He was losing consciousness fast. Better to give in voluntarily than have the dark sleep take him over of its own accord.

Hours passed, though it seemed to Morino Ibiki like only moments. When his weary eyes reopened, he realized it was brighter in the cell; day had come. He also realized that high above and behind him was a tiny window. Sun seeped through, drowning him in sweet warmth. The mix of cheery morning birds dancing in sunlight along with his bloody and dire situation was nearly laughable. There were probably people basking in the sweet warmth outside, not a care in the world, and here he was, starving and bloody.

_Speaking of starving..._

The delicious and torturous scent of roast lemon duck and boar-meat-pies wafted in. Someone somewhere was having a feast, and Ibiki's stomach growled in angry protest. Shifting his wearisome weight in the rough wood chair, he closed his eyes momentarily. Thus far, no one had come to give demands, nor to question him. It seemed odd to him. As a professional interrogator, Ibiki knew how these things went; the poor sod whom was being interrogated would be roughed a bit, left alone to stew in his fear and pain, and then questioned and roughed a bit more.

Only this time, _he_ was the poor sod, and while there had been some roughing up while he lay unconscious, no one had even tried to question him or demand secret information. It just did not add up to him. This was the part where some big, bad ANBU or interrogator stormed in and attempted to make him piss his pants. So where was this part? Perhaps he was not remembering something, some very crucial detail. What was the last thing he remembered..._ the very last thing...__ last...thing..._

Morino Ibiki promptly passed out.

* * *

><p><span><strong><em>The Exchallengra - Captain's Quarters<em>**

Josh Jhryian sat behind his expansive cherry-wood desk, deep in thought. Untouched plates of food sat before him, growing cold. Though rather young for a Startraveler Captain, at thirty-two Josh held many mighty achievements under his youthful belt:

Black-belt in karate, for one, as well as multiple fighting arts.

The unofficial title of the best and brightest Battle Strategist next to Humfric Herfpin, who was now long dead and legendary.

Best persuasion-skills in the hot-blonde-one-nightstands department; truly, he counted his ability to talk any woman into his bed as a skill. Not everyone could do it, so _obviously_ it was safe to assume it was a rare, coveted talent.

But most importantly, Captain Josh Jhryian held the record for most completed missions this particular season, and he had no intention of giving it up just because some ass of a planet-dweller had decided to board his ship unauthorized. Truthfully, he knew it was not the man's fault; the Clovothians had finally discovered the humble little planet below, dubbed K489, and the Exchallengra had barely made it in time to stop the blasted space-barbarians from demolishing the ninja-based world and plundering it's treasures and goods. One of his best fighters, Marsha McGwynie, had taken a Jumper down to the world below in pursuit of two Clovothian Jumpers that had escaped Exchallengra's mighty fire. Josh still did not know completely what had transpired, for Marsha was out cold in the infirmary, but what he _did_ know was she had come back badly wounded, and with a raging native of the planet K489. The man had been wild and deadly, nearly taking of Josh's own pretty blonde head with a chakra blast.

Chakra was common among the many planets, but aboard Startraveler Ships? Not so much. The energy waves needed to project chi from the body messed with the ship's wirings. or so legend liked to claim. Thusly, chakra-users were often kicked from ships, or not allowed on in the first place. This fell true to magic-users as well, along with many human and non-human beings with unusual skills.

Josh's bright blue eyes flicked to the warm brown ceiling. He certainly hoped this chakra-user did not affect the ship in any way, as legend claimed they did. They were far enough from K489 that if any malfunction befell them, they were surely perish before they found safe landing.

A sharp, brisk knock startled the captain from his musings. "Enter!" he replied gruffly.

The sleek door, wood as well, yawned open smoothly. Josh liked wood. The Startravelers had next to none, usually, so when Josh had gained the title of Captain for the Exchallengra, he had taken one look at the gleaming chrome, metal, and iron, and had demanded his personal quarters be "over-fucking-flowing" with wood. The ship-designer, Miskar Mhruru, had certainly not disappointed; The only things not wood were the carpeted floor, mattress and blankets, and clothing in the wardrobe.

A quiet cough dragged Josh from his private musings. Eldan Iarderm, his second in command, stood in the doorway. Tall and proud at six-foot-two, he looked to be pure muscle. His skin was darkened olive, his unreadable eyes even darker. With his devilishly good looks and brooding air, Josh supposed he could have serious competition in the female-department. Of course, Eldan was gay, so it was a moot point. Eldan also had an awful habit of coming across as menacing and mean. Not that he was. He was a big teddy-bear wrapped in pure muscle and dark flesh.

"Sir, the prisoner is awake again." Eldan stood in the doorway, straight as a rod, just as formal as always despite years of being friends with Josh.

Captain Josh Jhryian's lazy attention was caught. How could the planet-dweller be awake? They had hopped him up on enough tranqs to keep a damned mother yagafumi bear down. "No fucking way."

"Language, sir," Eldan respectfully reminded his captain and long-time friend. He uncrossed his arms. "I must confess, I am worried, sir. It is well-known that strange-bloods are bad luck on ships. Should we not simply drop him back off on his own planet? The Clovothians are long gone by now."

Josh shook his head in weary reply. "Nope. No can do. The planet may be young and uncivilized in space matters, but the majority of the populace is still lethal warriors and ninja. We would be assaulted the moment we tried entering any land. Not to mention how conspicuous our current mode of travel is." Josh stood, stretching his creaking young body. "No, better take him home with us, and deal with tossing him back to K489 later. Or better yet, leave it to someone else."

"And for now...?"

Josh gave a wide grin. "Give him to Gwen to deal with until he's calmed down."

Eldan gave a rare chuckle and left.

* * *

><p><span><em><strong>The Exchallengra -<strong>__** Infirmary**_

"OH OH OH! And the _staaaaaaaaaaaaaaaars!_"

Music blared from speakers meant for more practical use, crackling with the effort to keep up with the techno-pop beats. It was a new, upcoming band, called The Injection Sites. A bubble-gum mix of stereo-typical steam punk (something _so_ passe), and bumpy pop, the track currently playing was Gwen Pegily's _favorite_!

"Al_iiiiiiiiiiii_gning the stars aaaaaand BOOOOOOOM BOOOm BooooooooOOoooooom!" Gwen danced along to the beat, singing off-key and high-pitched. The music was so loud, she could scarcely hear the beeping of the infirmary monitors. Not that she needed to. The only patients there were a couple of fighters, but they were so knocked out, they likely would not wake for hours, and she did not care to sit idly about while the lazy lumps healed. She could be doing more productive things, like working on her tan in the machine she had throughly demanded be brought along on the mission, or getting some much-needed beauty sleep. Gwen was the only "strange-blood" allowed on the Exchallengra's crew due to her special healing-chakra. Well, and the fact the Cap _totally _had the hots for her. He claimed he was simply trying to 'end age-old beliefs', yada yada, but Gwen knew better.

Lifting a dainty hand, the healer inspected her long nails. The red lacquer was chipping already. Damn these rough space machines. Gwen sighed grumpily. She deserved _soooooo_ much better than to be stuck on a stuffy, unfashionable Startraveler. Her dream was to be an a multi-planet actress, known among all of the stars. But _no_, she had to go and be born with high levels of healing chakra. Life was _so_ unfair.

_Beep, Bop, beep, bop..._

The steady beeping of the machines continued, not that Gwen heard. She was too preoccupied in her own selfish thoughts of what she would eat when she was finished babysitting the bed-lumps here. It did not occur to her that the "lazy lumps" were the only reason she and the crew were still alive. No, Gwen could not understand such a concept, being from the mighty Swedremion race. Swedremions were a beautiful and selfish race of lizard-like beings. Tall and lithe, yet with contrasting curves to die for, Gwen was no exception to their foreign loveliness. With her long red curls and gleaming emerald-green skin, Gwen's faults tended to be more often over-looked than confronted.

_Beep beep bop, beep beep bop..._

Gwen danced over to the computer, skimming through the list of possible music choices. _Metal? Eeeeww... Pop-rock? Nope. Country? SHOOT me now, please._

_Beepbeepbeep, beepbeepbeep..._

"OH, I know!" The lovely alieness chose a catchy pop-tune and frolicked across the room back to her comfortable perch, unaware of the angry beeping. The music started, and Gwen was lost to the world. _BUMBUM da da dum BUMBUM._ "Oooh, ooooh, baby!"

_BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP..._

Twirling in the soft wheel-bottomed chair, Gwen grabbed her Flipcom from the desk as she passed it. Dialing '4-36-79', she waited impatiently for the captain to answer.

"Officer Eldan Iarderm speaking. The Captain is unavailable ri-"

"Ooooh, Eldaaaan!" Gwen purred into the Flipcom. "Is he _reeeally_?"

There was a slight pause. "Gwen, what is it now. We are busy dealing with real problems."

Gwen ignored the catty tone. "I want off of hospice-duty, please! Send that fat chick. I'm leaving. What's her name? Uuum, she's human, 'bout this-tall..."

Eldan sighed audibly. "You are going to leave whether I forbid it or not..."

"Yup!" she replied cheerily. "Sure am!"

There was another pause, then:

"On my way."

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Holding Cell<strong>_

Ibiki was thirsty. He was also hungry, in pain, and certain his own stench could ward off enemies by smell alone. If his captors were aiming for his stewing in pain and misery before they questioned him, they were winning. Not that he would let it show. No, he would die proud and silent. Or better yet, he would find a way to escape and slaughter the bastards slowly.

His shoulder was getting worse, and his jaw had gone numb. If they were not seen to soon, serious damage would be permanent. He would be a cripple. No longer would he be the feared sadist Morino Ibiki. No, he would be the once-feared. now-crippled and sad Morino Ibiki. Colleagues would shoot him pitying glances when they felt he could not see. Even civilians would give their sympathies instead of their fear. And his enemies? Oh, how they would rejoice! The Great and Mighty Morino! handicapped by a broken arm! he would likely be murdered soon after his permanent crippling was confirmed. It was not as though he would be able to fight back with all of his mighty strength...

_CREAK_

Ibiki was pulled from his depressed and self-pitying thoughts by the thump and creak of the cell door. Light poured in, making his eyes ache painfully. Still, he refused to close them, willing the burning orbs to remain open in defiance. He heard a tray drop, and an accented curse. A radio buzzed. More cursing and shouting in a strange accent his frazzled mind could barely attempt to place. Had he been found? Was he to be rescued?

An odd mixture of relief and undiluted fear circulated his broken body.

"Goddess Be Damned! I _told_ you to only leave him here 'til he'd calmed. HE'S BEEN HERE THE ENTIRE TIME! Dammit Gwen!" The man cursing into the radio was slowly coming into better view and focus. He was blonde and handsome, though clearly enraged with whoever was on the other end of the radio. Said radio looked strange to Ibiki. It was slim and compact, smooth and white. On the upper end was what appeared to be a small screen. Radios with screens? It seemed absurd and futuristic in a bad B-movie way. Ibiki's eyes fluttered as a new wave of blackness threatened to over-take him.

The blonde man cursed and ran forward, kneeling and yanking on the foreignly strong ropes holding him to the chair. "Hold on, just hold on a bit longer. C'mon, come on, c'mon." The radio spewed some more accented talk, but the man ignored it, intend on freeing Ibiki.

This would be his first mistake. Or second, if one counted putting a Swedremion in charge of someone other than itself.

Ibiki felt the ropes slack enough for him to make his move.

And move he did.

Ignoring the horrid agony that screamed through his body, he forced himself swiftly to his feet and punched the man with his good arm with as much chakra behind it as he could muster. The lights flickered, and a strange groaning sound came from the ground below. Ibiki gave the unconscious man a second glare, and quickly made his escape.

_What?!_

Ibiki could not believe his eyes. Could scarcely, in fact, believe he was awake. No. He must be asleep still. This was simply not possible. Outside his 'cell', to the immediate right, was a window. The light of day he fully expected to see was not present. It was huge and long, and what it showed made Ibiki finally concede to defeat. There was no way he could fight this enemy.

Not in space.


	2. Chapter 2

_**(Yesterday)**_

_**Konohakagure - Tortue and Interrogation Base**_

It had been a full day since Morino Ibiki's strange disappearance. The only witness to the incident was Yamanaka Inoichi, fellow interrogator. Inoichi could barely understand himself just what happen transpired this time, yesterday. He and Ibiki had been lounging in an empty holding-cell. It had been relatively clean of blood, and had given them a nice, quiet place to hide from a raging Anko and a huge stack of untouched paperwork. Ibiki despised paperwork, despite fully understanding it's need and import. Inoichi did not care either way. Personally, paperwork at the end of the day gave him time to wind down before heading home to the role of Inoichi-the-husband-and-father, and out of Inoichi-the-expert-and-terrifying-torturer.

The day had begun normally for him; Inoichi had seen his daughter Ino and her team off on an easy protection mission. He had then spent an hour with his lovely wife, whom was getting irate lately with his long hours. Once she was content, and he was thoroughly late for work, Inoichi had grabbed himself and quick breakfast of take-out rice cakes, and headed for work.

The Konoha Torture and Interrogation Base was a large building, faded white and foreboding. The civilian populace, and many ninja as well, avoided it like the plague. Inoichi could not blame them; many had lost their lives there, in agony-filled ends. The fact that they all were enemies of the village and a threat was usually lost on others, though.

Entering the building with an air of familiarity only held by those whom worked there, Inoichi had clocked in and headed for Ibiki's office. Morino Ibiki was often deemed frightening and menacing, unapproachable to most. He was also avoided like his very presence carried a bloody death sentence. This revulsion and seclusion made no difference to the man outwardly, though Inoichi suspected Ibiki wished for company not terrified of him now and then. Inoichi suspected he was the closest thing Ibiki could call a 'friend.' Not that they stayed up late painting each others nails and doing each other's hair. That thought when tied to Morino Ibiki was certainly laughable. Though they had on occasion gone out for a drink after particularly strenuous interrogations.

Ibiki had seemed agitated that morning. He was sure something was wrong, off, and it made him tense and grumpy. Not that he was not usually grumpy, though Inoichi would never dare say that to his face. No, he had seemed even grumpier than usual, and on-guard. Inoichi had tried finding out why, but all Ibiki would say was "The air feels off." Being on as many enemy hit-lists as Ibiki was could make anyone overly-cautious and easily spooked. But the heavily-scarred man was usually very calm, cool, and collected. Thusly Inoichi had elected not to ignore the unease of his partner's gut. He had casually suggested they take an early break in the empty cell #174809. After all, there was quite a bit of paperwork to complete before Anko arrived.

Ibiki knew Inoichi was simply playing on his intense dislike of both paperwork and Anko's childish antics. However, the thought of actually having to deal with both paperwork and Anko while he was this tense was less pleasant than agreeing with his partner's 'persuasion.' He had grudgingly agreed, and the two had spent a good two hours hiding out from their duties.

It was around lunch-time that the perfectly ordinary day turned to perfectly horrific. The two men had been packing up to leave (a.k.a. sneak out before Anko noticed them), when a loud _BOOM_ resonated from above. The building shook violently, dust and bits of plaster dislodging from the ceiling. The long single light in the center of the room swayed angrily. Giving each other a quick look, the two had shot from the room, in search of the attack. However, when they arrived outside, all was quiet and peaceful. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. In fact, it seemed especially cheery, birds chirping, children playing.

"What's going on?" Inoichi murmured. He eyed the surrounding area cautiously. What was going on? Had it been a Genjutsu? No, he would have felt it. Plus, the T.A.I.B. was heavily warded against not only escapes but invasions and rescue-attempts as well. A light in Inoichi's brain flickered. Could it be a rescue attempt? But a rescue for who? There were only two prisoners being held in the T.A.I.B.; Munsoke Yuu and Prisoner Two. Yuu was a petty Sand criminal whom had decided to try and steal a classified scroll to sell. He was currently being held until Sunagakure could spare ninja to retrieve him. He had no family except a civilian mother who had disowned him, and the same amount of friends. Prisoner Two was being held for being tied to the Akatsuki. At first, upon capturing him, they had been ecstatic; an Akatuski member to question! But as it turned out, he was nothing more than a high-ranking criminal whom had minimal contact with the criminal group. He was likely a disposable lackey. The only reason someone would break in for him would likely be to silence him. And this was clearly not a silencing attempt.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Inoichi glanced towards the heavily-scarred man. "Genjutsu?"

Ibiki nodded slowly, dark eyes unreadable. "Powerful, too. No one out here seems to have been affected." Turning, the man faced T.A.I.B. entrance. The explosion had sounded and felt so real. Felt large enough to have at least taken out a few buildings. And yet, nothing was touched. So now the question was; did they re-enter the building in search of the Gen-user? Or did they abandon the idea and report to the Lady Hokage?

A quiet rage began to seethe under Ibiki's skin. How dare someone come into _his_ work and attempt to attack it? Were they stupid? Did they not know who he was and what he was capable of? "I'll take the top," was all he said before disappearing.

Inoichi paused a moment, unsure if this course of action was the best. He felt the Hokage should be informed firstly. However, there was no stopping Ibiki once he had made up his mind. Heaving a mighty sigh, the blonde ninja disappeared as well.

* * *

><p><em><span><strong>Planet K489<strong>_

Marsha McGwynie cursed loudly. They were getting away! The damned Clovothions! Marsha despised them all. They were a bigoted race from a powerful planet of Ket-Gwig-Elt. Pronounced 'keht-gweyeg-eelteh', the planet and its powerful inhabitants had been an ongoing issue for neighboring worlds for decades. The Clovothians were strong, deeply religious to the ways of the Ghu Ghardju, and nature. They believed that every inhabited planet besides their own was dirty and dangerous, and must be eliminated to keep their planet and ways 'pure.' And their way of keeping things pure was slaughtering anything non-clovothian in their path.

It made Marsha sick.

Marsha had been just a child when they came to her world. The Startravelers called it planet XK593, but she had always known it as Truiliasonuchu. A beautiful planet, full of life and peace, it had caught the attention of the Clovothions when the people of her village, Nruiluic, started learning to dig up and collect the fuel needed for many Jumpers. It was slow but peaceful work, and the planet was never in danger of being damaged. They never took so much that it could not be replenished naturally. But the Clovothions saw this fuel-collection as a threat. They had first sent a messenger, a Clovothion-male. Marsha could still remember every detail of him; his tall, lithe frame, pale-white skin, the silk robe in shimmering shades of silver and gold. Marsha remembered the robe had seemed so beautiful to her child-ish eyes, and she had desperately wanted to run up to him and touch it. As if reading her thoughts (which many believed they could, though this had yet to be scientifically proven), the man had turned his head to look upon her. His eyes stung her memory, old anger spread through her already-adrenaline-amped body. His eyes had been wide, and yet narrow at the same time. The irises were huge, leaving barely any white visible. His had been a gold so lovely, Marsha had been mesmerized.

Then the scene turned ugly, when he promptly flicked his hand casually and sent her flying hundreds of feet. Onlookers who did not rush to rescue her claimed he had snapped "Dare not look upon our Greatness, vermin."

Marsha had nearly died; in fact, she _should_ have died. A mere child being thrown that far and roughly? However, as fate would have it, a tribe of ogres were camping nearby. Unlike the myth of many planets and worlds, ogres in on Truiliasonuchu were friendly and kind, and also very, very _fast_. An elder one called Umgr had saved her life that day. However, the Clovothion had not forgotten her apparent insolence, and, unhappy with the response to his "warning", he had decided to seek vengeance on her. The ogres tried to protect her, and stop the foreign demon, but they were simply not strong enough; Umbr and more than half the tribe was slaughtered. She and the rest would have been as well, if the demon-man's Flipcom had not buzzed. With one slender, beautiful hand, the man had pulled the com from his belt and eyed its message. Disgust filled his lovely features, and he whirled away without a second glance.

Umbr left behind an orphaned son, Thunrek. Thunrek was barely a season older than Marsha, and Marsha's mother had not the heart to leave the poor boy to fend for himself. The rest of the tribe had scattered in fright, leaving Thunrek on his own. Thusly it was decided Thunrek would live with them. Marsha's father had not been particularly happy about the extra mouth to feed, but he quickly warmed to him. The village had peace once more, and the Startravelers whom bought their fuel promised to report the illegal assault to their Highers. Unfortunately, nothing could be done; the Clovothions were already a large issue for the Startraveling Army, and the deaths of one little ogre tribe mattered little to them. Not that they were heartless. On the contrary, Startravelers were volunteers who risked their lives to protect planets that could not defend themselves. The problem was, many worlds had it far worse than they, with not just a tribe being killed, but many entire towns, cities, and sometimes entire planets. As a seasoned Startraveler now, Marsha could understand the logic. However, as a child, she hated them for giving up on her planet and people. Who were they to decide who was more important, who was not?

Winter came, and Nruiluic was too busy with keeping the stored fuel from freezing and growing bad. The foreign-demon was quickly forgotten. As was well for the village and its people. Years passed, and Marsha grew into an awkwardly lovely young girl. Thunrek grew into a strong man, and joined the village's fuel collection. Marsha, however, desperately wished to be a Startraveler by this time. Her hatred had dissipated, and all she knew was she needed to be able to defend her planet, and any other poor worlds unable to fight back.

Her parents had scoffed at the idea. Not in a cruel way, mind you, just in the most logical sense; Marsha was a lovely young, eligible female. Thusly, she would be expected to marry an equally eligible male and procreate until she died. It was simply the way of her village. But Marsha wanted more, and when the next Startraveler landed to purchase more fuel, she had sneaked away, hidden beneath a large gray cloak and the darkness of night.

She had thought herself quite clever and sneaky, but Thunrek had seen through her false, dramatic yawns that night. He stopped her just short of boarding the ship's storage area. "Marsie," he murmured softly, using her pet-name. His eyes, the deep black-brown of his tribe, gazed sadly upon her. "Marsie, please do not do this."

"Thunrek..." The girl shifted uneasily, uncertain of how long she had before the crew would return and find her. She would surely be whipped for her insolence, but she did not care. The risk hardly outweighed the rewards. "Thunrek, I cannot remain here. You must understand-"

She was silenced abruptly when Thunrek seized her and kissed her full on the lips. Marsha was frozen with shock, and when he pulled away, she could see he was just as tunned by his own actions. "Take me with you."

Her green eyes widened at his words. "Thunrek..."

Voices shouted and drew near. They looked at each other. The crew was returning! Marsha took an uneasy step back. Thunrek stepped forward. "I will accompany you." Her lips parted in protest, but he held his large hand up to quiet her. "Refuse, and I shall alert the crew." As the voices drew nearer, Marsha had reluctantly agreed, and the two had sneaked aboard before they were noticed.

Years had passed since that day. Fifteen, to be exact. But now was not the time to think of those lost years. The Clovothion Jumper was heading straight for the planet below! "Dammit," she cursed, eyeing the flickering screen to her left. It read off what little was known about planet K489, and one of the facts was that it was on the restricted list.

Shit.

Planets on the restricted list were newer, undeveloped worlds. Undeveloped did not mean stupid, or barbaric. It simply meant the inhabitants were not mentally, socially, emotionally, etc. ready to learn of the existence of life outside their world. If the clovothion was spotted, or, Goddess Forbid, began attacking and shooting the people below, it would mean both of their heads. Literally. Not that she particularly cared about the head of a Clovothion, but she would be punished as well for failing to stop him.

Fingers flying across the blinking keys, Marsha eased the Jumper into Stealth Mode. The Clovothion followed suit, and in seconds Marsha could only see it from her radar. It was flying low. Panic filled Marsha like fire. It was day here. Children could be seen playing. Chakra-users (they referred to themselves as ninja) walked the streets, fully unawares of the danger heading for them. _Dammit, dammit, dammit! _Marsha reached over and yanked the Flipcom violently from its perch. "Jumper to Command Room! I am pursuing an enemy Jumper! 'Tis heading for K489! Shall I proceed?"

The com gargled out sound, but the words were not clear. Strange. The Flipcoms were designed specifically to work in far areas. "Response unclear. Proceed?" More gargle. What was going on? Was this Clovothion doing? An even darker thought ran through her head.

_Is their technology and weapons evolving quicker than ours...?_

**_BOOOOOMMMPSHH!_**

Marsha was thrown violently from her dark thoughts, as well as her seat. Having forgotten to re-fasten her safety harness, the impact of the explosion rocketed her to the back of the Jumper. The rectangular-shaped mini-space-craft, unable to maneuver without its pilot, and not set to auto, the ship began to backwards nose-dive. "Goddess help me!" The petite pilot reached for the back of the seat, stretching until she ached. If she crashed and managed to survive, she would be done for anyways. K489 would know of the existence of other worlds prematurely. She would be hanged for Treason. Not just treason, but High Treason. It was considered a sever crime to inform underdeveloped worlds of alien existence before they were ready. Not to mention they would be forced into the war against the Clovothions.

Hauling herself up, she hooked one leg into the bolted-down back leg of the seat, and once secure enough, dragged her upper body higher until she could reach the control panel. Once steady enough, she grabbed slammed her palm down upon the emergency accelerator. The Jumper instantly slammed forward at full speed seconds before the back crashed into a tall white building with Japanese-like characters upon it. The force of the acceleration shoved Marsha back. The leg hooked into the seat snapped almost instantly. She screamed in pain, forcing her self to hold onto the seat with all of her willpower and might. Once high enough from the quaint village below, she reached an aching and nearly numb arm forward and forced the ship into auto-pilot mode, the enemy ship set as designation.

Now that the threat of smashing to pieces was more or less gone, Marsha was allowed a moment to right herself and assess her injuries. Her left leg was broken, nearly the entire thing shattered. Though she could be healed by that red-haired bitch easily enough, the amount of permanent damage she sustained would depend on how quickly she made it back to the ship. But she could not leave the enemy to complete whatever dark deed they intended. Forcing her battered and screaming body into the seat, she fastened the harness and stared solemnly ahead.

She could not fail.


End file.
